


Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: A Thalmor and Two Stormcloaks

by DirtyScrolls



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Altmer (Elder Scrolls), Anal Sex, Blood, Blood Drinking, Double rape, Face Slapping, Fantastic Racism, Humiliation, Killing, Kordin is not nice, Kordin is weird, M/M, Memories, Necrophilia, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Original Character Death(s), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poisoning, Rape, Rimming, Stormcloaks (Elder Scrolls), Thalmor (Elder Scrolls) - Freeform, Threats, Violence, War, War Crimes, brief necrophilia but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26845381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyScrolls/pseuds/DirtyScrolls
Summary: A hungover Dragonborn enjoys a fond memory from his war days.
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Original Male Altmer Character(s), Male Dragonborn/Original Male Nord Character
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: A Thalmor and Two Stormcloaks

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags. Kordin is a sick bastard, and this one does contain short descriptions of necrophilia, though most of the sex is with a live (if unwilling) character. I hope you’ll enjoy it, anyway. 
> 
> Suggestions, etc, always welcome.

Kordin was in bed at Honeyside, drinking ale and nursing an unusually nasty hangover. With Sero away on business again, the house was empty except for the housecarl, who had retired to her room to read. The Nord did not often have time alone at home. When he did, he sometimes liked to lose himself in memory. 

His recent good fortune with the handsome Altmer alchemist in Whiterun had been a long time coming, he thought, now, his back against an expensive pillow, a new bottle of ale in his hand. He had gone too long without High Elven flesh. 

It brought back some of his finest memories, the kind he liked to take out every so often and appreciate. He thought of the elf’s silvery hair, his gold-green eyes. And he remembered a frigid evening in Eastmarch, just after he and two fellow Stormcloaks had ambushed a party of Thalmor on the road. He took out his prick, spat in his palm, jerking himself as he got lost in thought.

First, he remembered running his fingers through pale silken hair clogged with blood. How the dead Thalmor agent’s wiry, golden body (already stripped of the valuable armor) was still warm, almost as if he were alive. The arrogant blood-spattered features had gone slack, now seeming very sensual—that thick mouth, those haughty cheekbones. Kordin’s blood was pounding from the recent fight and the beauty of the dead elf, as he kissed him and felt up his unresponsive body. The mer’s teeth were clenched but the lips pliant. He was playing with the Altmer’s thick, long, flaccid prick when a half-mocking voice interrupted him.

“Again?” asked his friend Lars, a stocky, very good-looking Nord with a strong jaw, sea-blue eyes and tawny curls. Kordin had exchanged rough kisses and passionate hand-jobs with him on many an otherwise boring night. “What is it with you and the carrion? And couldn’t you at least drag them off somewhere we can’t see?”

Kordin just laughed back at him.

“You have no idea what you’re missing. Look at this one. He’s fucking gorgeous.”

“That may be, but we have a living one to deal with, and just as good. Do you have any more magicka poison? Maybe something for stamina too?”

“Yeah.”

Kordin sighed and laid the dead Thalmor back down in the ice-crusted grass. Maybe he could convince them to camp here, then use his limp prize after they set up, if the damned elf didn’t get too stiff in the cold.

The Nord coated his shock-enchanted ebony dagger and approached the Altmer man held by Lars and Magnar, their considerably older, heavily scarred superior. 

The mer was a sweaty, lanky wizard-warrior in Elven armor, which the two other Nords were working to remove, revealing a tall golden body with well-toned arms and legs. The night certainly wasn’t a total loss.

The shining armor came off bit by bit and was distributed among the three soldiers, then even the Altmer’s loincloth was tossed aside. They left his enchanted frost-resistance necklace—Magnar insisted it wouldn’t do to have the captive freeze to death, when he might know something valuable. 

The Thalmor looked straight at Kordin with proud bright green eyes. Now he was naked, gagged and restrained, elegant hands bound and long feet tethered together by a short length of rope.

Kordin yanked the mer up by his white-blond hair and held the sharp ebony to his graceful throat, then traced it in a slow line to his flat belly. The elf winced and shivered all the way down, his muscles taut.

“Such a magnificent thing,” the Nord said, grazing light golden hair on the mer’s arms. “And you’re all ours.”

He stuck him in the forearm with the coated dagger-tip, which he had dipped in two long-lasting poisons of his own creation, one that depleted magicka, while the other slowed its regeneration. He then used a similar combination of stamina poisons. 

He restrained himself from licking the poisoned blood. 

The Altmer flinched lightly at the cuts. His bright eyes went a bit foggy. 

“Let’s move,” said Magnar, “We can walk till we find a cave to camp in. Plenty around.”

Kordin sighed and complained over the lost opportunity with the dead one. Lars laughed good-naturedly, and Magnar called him “a strange boy, for sure”.

Kordin offered to take charge of the beautiful green-eyed captive first, showing off by throwing the long, muscular Thalmor agent over his shoulder, groping his rounded naked ass as he arranged him, and carrying him for awhile before passing him off to an eager Lars, whose hands wandered similarly. The three stayed off the road to avoid further trouble, weaving their way through pines. Lars grew tired before long and forced the bound, nude mer to walk with them until they reached a suitably dry cave.

They tossed the Altmer down on the dirt floor and began to make camp, placing their bedrolls and building a small fire. The elf watched them with great apprehension, as he lay on his side flexing his strong, tightly-bound wrists in front of him.

“Stop that, knife-ears,” barked Magnar, noticing the activity as he settled onto his bedroll with a bottle of ale. “You’re not going to break that. It’s too thick, and anyway, the boy’s potion sapped your strength for the night.”

The Altmer glared with his fiercely green eyes, but stopped trying to loosen his bonds.

Lars crouched down next to the defiant mer and then looked at Kordin, and reminded him of why he was probably his closest friend.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked. “I know you wanted that pretty dead meat earlier.”

The elf flinched visibly upon hearing the words.

“You fucking savages will suffer for this. The Thalmor don’t--”

Kordin shut up their new golden toy with a sharp face-slap. 

Old Magnar looked up briefly, then went back to his half-full bottle.

“You boys have fun,” he said, stretching and yawning. “Keep him tied. Don’t make too much noise.”

“I am thinking what you’re thinking,” Kordin told Lars, staring down at the Altmer’s long-boned, handsome face, caressing the place near his cheekbone where he’d hit him. It was turning a gorgeous golden-pink, like an intense sunset. He ran his hands through the mer’s hair, admiring its pale warm color. 

He hated the Thalmor for a simple reason—he hated being told what to do, outside limited erotic circumstances. But, by all the gods, he loved the way Altmer looked. His time with the Stormcloaks had given him more chances than he probably deserved to explore this preference, and he had indulged to the fullest. This beauty was one of many.

“Where was your patrol headed?” asked Lars, tickling the mer’s pale pubic hair. “We’ll go soft on your sweet golden ass if you tell us.”

“Go fuck yourself, ice-troll.”

Lars cracked the elf hard across the mouth with his knuckles, bringing a few threads of beautiful blood from the man’s lush lower lip.

“So rude. I suggest you answer me, or I’ll watch him fuck your handsome ass first,” Lars threatened, gesturing to Kordin. “He has trouble restraining himself.”

“I’m not the commander. I don’t know where he was taking us.”

“Where’s your commander? He run, like those other two?”

“The last I saw, he had a fatal neck wound and your comrade was close to… to violating him.”

Kordin grinned. Lars pulled the elf’s hair.

“Where are you based?”

“Markarth.”

“You sure about that?” asked Kordin, stroking the mer’s shining hair along with Lars. “You’re awfully far, aren’t you, beautiful?”

“They send us all over,” said the Altmer, squirming under their caresses.

“That must be difficult,” Lars replied, running a finger over one of the elf’s delicate eyelids. The golden creature winced. “Maybe we can help you unwind.”

“I—I doubt that.”

“Lemme try,” said Kordin, with false sweetness. “I can lick you open first, make you feel amazing. I’ll even give you some wine first, if you’re good.” 

“I demand--”

“Or I could just take you.”

“The Thalmor will find out who you are and I will personally--”

Kordin slapped him again across his pretty, arrogant cheekbone. 

“You seem to want a prick in your mouth, witch-elf,” he said. He turned to Lars. He caressed his friend’s thick hard thigh, then his thick hard erection. “We both have the means to fill it right here.”

“Soon enough you’ll both be sucking Altmer cock,” spat the elf.

“Only if you’re very, very good to us,” said Lars, groping the mer’s big soft golden prick. “Then I might consider treating you.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Don’t give us orders,” Kordin said, laying a third smack on his face. “I think you need to open your mouth for his prick, if you don’t want that smooth neck sliced. Imagine how pretty the red blood would be with your golden skin.” He ran a fingertip along the mer’s slapped cheekbone, fixed him with his eyes “Just gimme a reason to do it, gorgeous.”

The Altmer responded with a look of disgust. Kordin unsheathed his ebony dagger and placed the edge gently against the tender neck. Disgust melted into wide-eyed fear.

“I meant what I said, as you can see,” Kordin told him, pressing just hard enough to dent the silken skin. “You saw what was going to happen to your commander’s pretty carcass. You wanna take his place on my cock, I’ll be happy to accommodate you.”

Lars worked his thick cock into the mer’s open, slack mouth, his breathing hard, as if he were already on the edge of orgasm, just from handling and abusing the captive. If Kordin were to guess, he’d say his friend had more of a fascination with Altmer than even he did. He volunteered for extra guard duty whenever they had a handsome Thalmor soldier in the Windhelm dungeon. A solid, humiliating face-fucking was his favorite punishment to give them. Kordin had enjoyed watching him many times, apart from the indignities he himself visited on their captives, mer and man alike.

The Altmer did nothing except open his mouth and throat enough not to gag, but the other Nord used him with abandon, gripping his hair and thrusting. Drool came from the corners of the mer’s wide, well-formed mouth. 

“You’ll make a great whore for us,” Lars mocked him, moving his head back and forth on his thick purple-pink cock, “If this is any indication.”

Kordin watched intently, stroking his own cock with one hand and the Altmer’s body with the other. He ran an appreciative palm over his buttocks and legs, then turned to roughly massaging his large fine feet, making each squirm in turn.

“Divines, he has beautiful feet.”

“Magnar is right,” gasped Lars as he fucked the Altmer’s mouth, “You are strange.”

Kordin shrugged and pinched one of the mer’s long toes. Their regal golden prey tried to cry out, but Lars’s thick cock blocked him. Soon enough, he was pumping come into the Altmer’s handsome mouth, excess spilling over the sides.

Lars pulled out with a wet sound and slapped the elf’s lower face.

“Swallow,” he ordered. 

The disgusted look came over the Altmer’s noble features again, but he did as he was told, glancing at Kordin. Kordin watched his throat work as he accepted his friend’s come.

“I wonder what his ass is like,” he said, stroking along the mer’s body. 

Had he been able to move freely and with full strength, the Altmer man could obviously have put up a fight, even without his magic, with those long powerful limbs, those wide beautiful shoulders. The nimble strong hands were made to clasp a fine Elven weapon. He was formidable, Kordin knew that from their fight. But, thanks to the bonds and Kordin’s alchemical talents, he was reduced to a plaything. It was intensely erotic to have such a man at his mercy.

Kordin squeezed his plumply muscled buttocks, stroked his thighs, lightly fondled his delicious, ample soft genitals, then moved back to his rump.

“I wanna lick him before I fuck him,” he said.

“Wonder if he’ll like it,” smirked Lars, his blue eyes alight with renewed lust.

“We’ll see.”

“Enjoy your meal.” 

Kordin turned the Altmer on his belly. He bent down and kissed his deep crack, making the Thalmor shudder, then he parted the two round buttocks to reveal a darker rose-gold pucker laced with pale golden hair. He gently moved the sparse curls aside and lapped at the hole. It looked so lush. He went at it with a hungry tongue. The elf tried to flinch away from the lathering his hole was getting, but Kordin kept him from moving with two strong hands on his ass-cheeks. He tasted of sour sweat, a hint of something earthier, and some odd spicy soap or perfume. Kordin was painfully aroused.

“Oh, you taste so fucking wonderful,” he moaned, coming up, still tasting and smelling the sweet secret place he had just ravaged with his mouth. “And you’ll be so good on my cock.”

He got up, eyeing the Altmer’s whole body again. He imagined taking bites from the splendid golden flesh. He smacked his thigh.

“Lean forward with that ass raised for me.”

The Altmer slowly and awkwardly positioned himself, head down, rump up.

Kordin oiled him perfunctorily, just enough to get his cock in the pink-golden pucker.

The first thrust was tight, but easier than anything he’d had in the Grey Quarter. Then, after several more thrusts to open him, the knife-eared beauty hugged his thrusting prick perfectly. He went in to the hilt, feeling his sack swat the smooth skin. The Altmer made delicious pained noises through his teeth.

“By the Nine, he looks good taking it,” said Lars. “I might need to drain my balls in his ass next.”

“That’s almost all he’s good for, now,” Kordin said, smacking hard into the Altmer’s hot oil-slicked passage. “That and getting his mouth filled.”

He went into a frenzy of thrusting between the golden buttocks, probing deep into the Thalmor’s hot guts. He raked his hands down the man’s V-shaped back, enjoying the wince of the muscle beneath the supple skin. He stroked one hand over his fine longish hair, lacing fingers in it.

“We’ll keep you around the dungeons just to use,” he told his captive, as he pumped his hips, his cock leaking pre-ejaculate into the mer, “Chained up and naked. Wonder how many Nord cocks you can take in a row, knife-ears. Just one hurts, doesn’t it?” He tugged on the hair. “Am I hurting you, gorgeous? Hmm?”

“Best answer him,” Lars said.

“Yes,” said the Altmer quietly, “It hurts.”

“Good,” Kordin growled, moving his hips faster, chasing his climax. “I would say you should’ve stayed in Summerset where you belong, but I’m sure you can tell I’m glad to have you--” He thrust particularly hard. “--right where you are.”

He moved from the elf’s hair to pinch his ears, running his fingers from lobe to tip, squeezing, making the Altmer squirm in protest. He laughed.

“Pretty ears,” he sighed, sinking into the strong body, “Rest assured they’ll be getting a lot of attention.”

There were several more minutes of blissful fast fucking, forcing himself again and again into the hot sleeve of the mer’s passage, no sound but the slight wet familiar squelch of a hard Nord prick invading a slick Elven hole.

Lars was watching with shimmering blue eyes and a wide smile.

“Waiting for your turn?” asked Kordin, glancing at him, then pinching the sharp tip of the mer’s ear again. He knew Lars liked their lovely pointed ears as much as he did.

“I’m going to tear him up,” said Lars. “That strong body can take it.”

Kordin smiled, stabbed his victim sharply with his prick, running his hands over him again. When he came, it was long and glorious, filling the bound man’s ass.

“You were so good,” he moaned, stroking the golden back as he pulled out reluctantly, his come slicking his own softening prick and running down the elf’s thighs. “He was right—you’ll make an excellent whore, once we get you back to Windhelm. Just excellent. I think you’ll be one of my favorites.”

The Altmer they’d captured that cold night was indeed a highly welcome distraction, between the fighting and Kordin’s more discreet activities. At first, he would spit and insult Kordin whenever he used him, but this only spurred the Nord on, so the elf soon learned to quietly accept what he got. In the end, because he had limited information on Thalmor activities, Ulfric ordered him killed to make room for another incoming prisoner. Kordin eagerly volunteered for the task.

He recalled how the mer had struggled, even tried to bite him, tried to elbow him as he grabbed his soft ragged hair to pull his head back, exposing his long smooth throat. How the blade had looked sinking into the perfect golden skin. There had been long spurts of hot crimson blood, which the Nord licked from his hands and from the mer’s neck. Once the Altmer had finished bleeding out on the dungeon floor, Kordin had cut his ragged prison tunic off him and taken his pleasure with the sweet, cooling body, holding the long limp legs on his shoulders and pounding the unresisting hole, kissing the slack mouth and bloody neck and chest. He’d left the Thalmor’s corpse for anyone else who might want him, naked and streaked with come.

In his room at Honeyside, Kordin used a rag to clean up the results of his self-stimulation. His hangover had receded, replaced by a warm contented buzz. He put out his candle and hoped for good dreams.


End file.
